Californians rhapsodize over In-N-Out's never-frozen patties, its special sauce, its secret menu. But is the burger chain's appeal just overheated nostalgia?

Welcome toConsumed, in which Matt Duckor devours the food world, documenting the people, places, and plates that keep him hungry.

(Credit: Matt Duckor)

If you talk to any West Coast expat about hamburgers,In-N-Out Burger comes up within about 13 seconds. Their eyes will come to life as they praise the special sauce, note that the meat isn't frozen, and rhapsodize over the impossibly thick milkshake. And they're right about those things, but it's interesting that most never mention the so-so fries or the subpar vegetables or the fact that the sauce isn't really all that special. There is no arguing with the expats, however; such is the power of nostalgia. In-N-Out is a cult that happens to serve burgers and fries.

I grew up in Southern California, land of outdoor malls, freeways, and, yes, In-N-Out Burger. I ate a lot of it. Most of my memories involve friends and meals taking place between the hours of 10:30 p.m. and 12:30 a.m.. My order was always the same: a Double Double (double meat and cheese, single bun), fries, and a strawberry shake. Some friends messed with animal style, a "secret" menu option available for burgers or fries that involves mustard, extra pickles, cheese, and grilled onions diced up and mixed together. On a recent trip back home, I ate at In-N-Out for the first time in years. The service was as friendly as ever. I turned over my cup to find a Bible verse around the bottom rim. Still weird, but comfortingly familiar. Nothing had changed, except for me. That special sauce? It's just thousand island dressing. The meat may not be frozen, but that doesn't mean the beef has much flavor. The lettuce should have been crisp and chilled, not limp and room temperature. The tomato should have tasted like a tomato.

The milkshake and fries, on the other hand, held up remarkably well. The shake was everything it should be--thick and creamy, but not so thick you need the extra assistance of a spoon. And then there were the fries. The crazy thing about In-N-Out fries is that they taste so purely of potatoes. They're put through a potato slicer by hand in plain sight behind the counter. There's a starchiness and, well, a potato-ness that you don't often get in the age of triple-cooked duck fat fries.

By now, half the country has already labeled me a traitor and called for the revocation of my California passport (maybe you'd like to meet my friends in Philly?), so I'll just go ahead and make the inevitable comparison toShake Shack. New Yorkers (and now Philadelphians, Washingtonians, Miamians, etc.) are just as fiercely loyal to it, and like In-N-Out, Shake Shack bills itself as a throwback to a simpler time. But while In-N-Out is very purposefully stuck in 1950--it's kept the same design and employee uniforms since it opened--Shake Shack is a modernized version of that nostalgia. Beef comes from designer meat man Pat LaFrieda, milkshakes get a twist with the addition of thick frozen custard, and the tables are made from reclaimed wood. Shake Shack is better than In-N-Out in every way, except for the fries.

Still, one bite of a Double Double can take me back to the days when I'd just gotten my learner's permit: The In-N-Out parking lot was full, and I was happy, hanging out with my friends and totally ignoring the fact that I'd have a U.S. history test the next day. I'm no longer In-N-Out's biggest fan, I left the cult as soon as I moved to New York. But that doesn't mean I don't still enjoy a hefty serving of nostalgia, animal style.